


Alternian Justice

by MistCover



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Death, Execution, Glory Hole, Gore, Guro, Hanging, Intestines, Multi, Non-Consensual, Oral Sex, Rape, Scat, Skull Fucking, Tentabulges, Voyeurism, Watersports, handjobs, internal ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistCover/pseuds/MistCover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA "Gloryholes and you"<br/>Rose wakes up in a dirty bathroom stall and does what she must.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another commissioned work! This one was a two parter and contains almost every squick I can think of, so please, be wary if you are easily squicked out. As always, find me on tumblr , and I am still open for commission work!

_When did the bed become so cold?_ That’s the first thought that swims into your mind, splashing on the shores of consciousness. You blink, rubbing your eyes free of sharp chunks of salt. Passing out, drunk, is never a pleasant way to go but you almost always wake up on the soft warmth of your bed, or at the very least a couch. You are nothing if not a fastidious drinker, after all. Your head throbs and you grimace, rolling it side to side and listening to the cracks it makes. _That feels much better._ Slowly, carefully, you open your eyes and are greeted with a face full of cold metal.

Huh.

It’s dented, in places, and an ugly olive green, years since the last time it’s been painting and in sore need of some soapy water. You push yourself up your knees and are suddenly keenly aware of how cold the air is around your naked skin, your hip brushing against cold porcelain. Your head whips around, and you stare at the dingy toilet currently consuming your view. Alright. Naked, in a dirty bathroom stall. If there was ever a situation you had not mentally prepared yourself for, this would probably be it. A cursory glance around reveals the standard graffiti one finds in such places, crude carvings of genitalia of all sizes and a stray phone number or two. You push the door and it doesn’t give an inch, a rattle of metal telling you it’s been deadbolted shut.

And then you see the hole.

It’s about fist sized, punched through the opposite stall wall at pelvis height. A note is taped just below it, written in sloppy handwriting and you squint at it, staring at the thick pen lines.

“Your clothes and your freedom will be returned once you have serviced five customers.” That’s it. No more, no less, just instructions. Just a demand. Your face flares red and you clench your teeth, looking behind you. You push the door again. You turn in the tightest circle you can, not daring pound on the walls. _This is just a nightmare, Rose. You’re not going to be hurt. Just wake up._

There is a rustle of paper behind you, a thin roll being pushed through the hole in the wall. On it is one word, printed in thick black ink.

“Handjob”.

You shake your head. _This isn’t real, this can’t be happening, why would this be happening to me, please, no, don’t make me_ \- a cock slides through the hole, hard, bobbing. It is pale and veined and its owner is silently waiting for you to begin.

No way out. There’s no way out and nothing you can do and you have to do this. You reach a hand out, brushing your fingers against the head, and its owner grunts, thrusting forward so your fingers are spread and pushed halfway down. With small movements, you fist the hard cock, pumping it up and down once, slowly, gently, cautiously. It throbs in response, warm in your palm and you take a slow breath. This is okay. You can do this. Your eyes close and you pump it again, harder, and it thrusts into your palm. This is fine. Your hand begins to work faster, slim violinist’s fingers curled around him and you open one eye, feeling your cheeks heat to near critical levels. Surely a comparison between your complexion and an apple wouldn’t be too far off. The dick is sliding back and forth against you, and you can hear whoever is on the other end of this thin metal wall panting, a fist pounding against it as you press the head just slightly. It feels like an eternity, your hand beginning to cramp up and your fingers grow tired, the frenzied pace of your jerks slowing in time with the customer’s. Maybe they won’t be able to get off. Maybe you’ve already failed, and you’ll never be free, dying in this dirty stall while trying to-

It throbs, once, twice, and twitches against your palm. Cum dribbles out the tip, dripping down onto your thigh, far too warm against your freezing skin. You flinch, making a face. Well, that’s one down, at least. The dick is gone, leaving an empty hole, and you use some toilet paper to wipe the cum off you before it can dry, sticky and tacky on your skin.

Another piece of paper is shoved through and you eye it.

“Blowjob”.

They’re nothing if not concise, around here, and you grimace at the thought of putting your mouth on okay wait that is definitely not a human cock.

It is long, tapering towards the end and flushed purple, dripping onto the floor as you watch it writhe and wave in front of your face. Your confusion knows no bounds as it moves, seeking out the apparent destination of your mouth. A few tense moments pass, you staring down this appendage, wishing it would go away, and then there is a knock on the stall door. Impatient.

You poke your tongue out and drag it along the underside of the thing. It’s not as horrible as you thought- salty, sure, and a little musky, but not terrible. It twists from the minor stimulation and you lick it again, trying to make sure it touches you as little as possible.

Which only makes it worse when it shoves its way into your mouth. You yelp, and it squirms in your mouth and you swallow out of reflex. It works into your throat, making you gag around it, dripping spit and purple tinted lubricant down your chin as it begins to thrust. It’s all you can do to focus on breathing in and out of your nose, trying not to vomit, or worse, to pass out from the organ currently face fucking you. It thrashes in its limited confines, and you are keenly aware that it- or the being attached- is unsatisfied. You force your tongue to roll across it, sucking in your cheeks in your limited space. _This is how to do it, right? This is how to_ \- tears prick at the corners of your eyes with a fresh wave of shame. This is how to give a blowjob in a bathroom stall through a gloryhole. And that is what you’re doing. That is exactly what you are doing, sucking up and down the lukewarm tentacle. _This is it,_ you think, _this is the worst thing I have ever done or will ever do_ , and there is nothing, nothing in this world that can compare to the humiliation that is roiling in the pit of your stomach.

The thing stops, growing thicker and then the first pulse of cum hits your throat. It is warm, and pudding-like in texture, slopping against your throat faster than you can swallow it down. Cum fills your mouth and pours out, splashing against your breasts and dripping onto your stomach. It never seems to end, wave after wave of sticky ooze being forced out of this thing, and you try your best not to cry.

When it ends, you’re soaked with purpleish goo, clinging to your skin. You wince and spit out what’s left in your mouth.

Just as you begin to contemplate trying to wipe yourself off, yet another paper is shoved through, almost desperately.

“Align nook with hole.”

You read it again. _Align what with... what?_ It takes a few moments of confused fumbling in your mind before you realize they mean that you- that they want to penetrate you.

You stand on jelly knees and press your ass to the hole, letting your cunt be exposed to the air. _This is disgusting,_ you think, _and so are you._ You can feel yourself, you’re not wet and you’re not ready and you cry, thinking about the pain that is surely to come, when someone puts their tongue to your slit and you gasp. Whoever it is, they’re good, working your clit and dragging their tongue along your folds. You try to fight it- try to force yourself not to grow hot, wetness gathering in you as they lick you. It’s no use. Before long, you’re moaning, forearms pressed to the wall to give you support.

A rustle of fabric is heard and the head of a human cock presses against you, pushing you open, slipping inside inch by inch until you’re stuffed, clit throbbing with your pulse as they begin to thrust.

They grunt with every press inside, your walls stretching to accommodate them. They don’t waste time building up, and within seconds their thrusts are desperate and fast, slamming against you, making a sharp, wet slapping noise every time.

They cum inside of you, warmth seeping into your core, and you clench your teeth. _If I end up pregnant because of this..._ They keep going. Cum squishes against them and they keep going, pressed tight against you. If anything, this time they’re more needy, rolling their hips against yours, panting against the metal that divides you. Slowly, their dick begins to soften, and they force themselves to continue, even as it slips out of your cunt. They switch to rubbing their soft sex against your slit, rubbing against you. A woman’s voice is heard, mumbling low and angry, and they protest just as quietly, a hand jerking against you. A finger is shoved inside of you, curling, scooping out cum from your core.

They leave, mumbling angry sounds as they go.

And they are replaced just as quickly as they left. It’s another troll, tentacle thicker than any human you’ve ever known and you grimace. They can’t quite fit, clammy hands grabbing your ass cheeks and forcing you apart, shoving their way inside. You whimper and they shush you, letting their bulge writhe in the limited space you provide for them. There’s very little thrusting, it’s mostly just them twisting and pulsing inside of you.

You close your eyes and try to block out the pain shooting through you, hoping it’s over quickly.

You are in no such luck, and they take their time, grinding against you, panting and moaning as they fuck into you. It feels like an eternity, and you feel yourself tear around them, drops of blood mixing with their own fluids until they shove you forward, off of them. You crash against the stall wall and crumble onto the toilet just in time for them to unload. The cum is red tinted this time, splashing onto your face, your lap, anywhere the bulge can reach as it thrashes in the open air, covering you with another coating. You sit still, counting in your head. One more. One left to pleasure and then you’re free and you can wake up from this nightmare, take a shower until your skin is red and cry.

You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, and wait.

A bright red tentacock squirms through the hole. It doesn’t look nearly as thick or as long as the others, and you breath a sigh of relief.

“I just need to take a leak.” It’s the first voice you can hear, unfamiliar, and the bulge moves towards the toilet. You make a move to stand. “Just stay where you are.” It unleashes on you. Piss pours out of it, onto you, onto your thighs and your stomach, dribbling between your legs to rush against your ruined pussy. It spills onto your hips, a steady stream of liquid, and the owner sighs. They bare down, forcing high pressure bursts to hit your chest, the stream steady in between. It takes a good thirty seconds for them to begin to slow, forcing out the final pushes against you, cock curling against itself as it pulls out of the hole in the wall.

The lock on the door is fiddled with from the outside, and you hear it unlock, crashing to the ground with a thud.

And you are free to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial, followed by an execution.

There is a thick, brackish taste in the back of your mouth - something like bile, maybe, or shame. You keep your eyes closed, and breathe heavily through your nose as you are dragged, blindfolded, to what you can only assume will be your demise - you try to keep yourself steady, level, you do not cry and you do not thrash, do not wince against the ever-tightening grip on either side of your arms, the fingers that you can feel leaving soft, delicate bruises against your skin - they will be light, almost translucent, like early morning non-light, or webbed map of veins in your feet and hands - the veins pumping red blood - the blood that, today, will get you killed.

After leaving the bathroom stall, you were captured, cuffed by figures unseen and dragged away. Your thighs drip multicolored fluids as you are marched, naked, through somewhere that leaves grit between your toes and your nose smelling nothing but stale, cool air. In the distance, there is shouting, arguing, perhaps even chanting in a tongue you don’t recognize. It sounds similar to what you heard Kanaya speak in- guttural and thick, with clicks and trills thrown in- but different enough that you are unable to pick out even the most basic of root words. Probably ancient Troll, then. You keep your head held high, refusing to relinquish every scrap of dignity you are still in possession of.

The next thing that you are aware of, you are being thrown onto the uneven ground, hard rocks clinging to your skin as you are smashed further down by a heel between your shoulder blades.

A woman begins to speak. Her words are loud, echoing off the walls and back into your ears half-formed. She speaks in a measured tone, as though she were reciting from a script she had read a dozen times, or a well loved book. The crowd goes silent as she speaks, and save for her measured words and the shuffle of papers above your head, it is quiet.

Behind you, a low growl is heard. It morphs into a grumble, bubbling and spilling forth from who or whatever is making that noise. The woman responds, her voice suddenly high and nasal, and the foot on your back is gone, heels clicking across the stone floor. Her words reach a crescendo, and the crowd begins to chant, feet and fists banging on their seats, or the floor, or whatever they can reach. The footsteps go around the room, both ears picking up the click of her on the floor. The crowd is hushed, again, and she asks a question, very softly. Everyone screams different words, dissonant shrieks and shouts until she shouts one word back at them. The troll repeats himself, and she repeats it back to him. Almost... almost as if she was taking a suggestion.

You are hauled to your hands and knees by a pair of large hands, huffing out air as you are readjusted. You wince as fresh bruises blossom across your thin arms, and wait, you hips in the air.

It’s not surprising when she presses inside of you with her bulge. You take deep breaths through your nose when she manages to push inside of you, tentacle filling you past the point of comfort, into the territory of strictly pain while she groans, rutting against you as you clench your jaw and wait for it to be over. No such luck, and she shouts to the crowd, who shout back at her, indistinguishable voices all screaming at once. They sound enthused, at least, and you swallow when she pulls out of you before the characteristic (for trolls, at least) gush of fluids spills inside of your lips.

You try to collapse onto the ground, to take some respite while she riles them, and are immediately forced back up. Another word is repeated back to the assembled mass of trolls and they begin to chant it, two syllables repeated over and over again and she is behind you again, considering you again. She shouts back at them, a joke, because they laugh, some howling and some simply chuckling to themselves while she runs her claws down your back, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to sting. Idly, almost, and it takes her a good two minutes to settle them down enough to do what she was requested to do.

She grabs your hips, pulling you to the side, facing profile to them as she presses a finger against your asshole. You wince and she hoots, telling the assembled masses about your weakness as you try to wiggle away from her. The hand on your hip digs further and you stiffen. Shedding blood today would probably get you killed, at the very least. She pulls back, cool air washing over you, soothing your sex in a brief moment of calm. Her bulge is between your legs again, searching up and down you, slowly beginning to drip her own genetic lubricant. She rubs against you long enough that you wonder if this was it, if this was all she was planning on doing, because this- this you can handle, in fact, with no trouble at all.

Then her bulge finds your ass again. You try to relax, to no avail, and she presses inside of you, and you squeak in pain. Your world is dark and sharp and there is so much pressure inside of you, especially when she begins to move, her hips sliding against yours almost as an afterthought to her bulge, thrashing in the extremely limited space you provided for her. After a while, you can barely tell the sensations coming into and out of you apart, everything blurring together into a line of pain.

She pulls out, suddenly, and the release is enough to make you groan. She faces the assembled crowd and says something in disgust, and they agree, a few even laughing again. Wait- what? What could you have possibly done wrong this time? The crowd goes wild, and she stomps one heel on the stage a few times, making sharp, high noises against the cold stone floor as she shrieks in glee. Her claws dig into the back of your scalp and you are hauled to your knees, fast enough to be thrown off balance and collapse back onto the floor again. She growls at you, and grabs you again, forcing you back up. Hair rips out of your scalp, delicate soft strands of blonde and you fall, again. The third time, another pair of hands hold you up, digging into the bruises that used to be your arms. The crowd is hushed, except for a few loose moments of chatter. They’re anticipating something. They’re waiting, enraptured, with whatever it is you did wrong, with whatever ‘justice’ is about to be doled out by your captor.

You smell it before you realize, entirely, what it is. It is acrid, directly in front of your nose as she waves what is assumed to be her own tentacle back and forth in front of your face. She spits a word at you and your cheeks flare red, shame flooding you as the realization of what you’ve done dawns on you. You shit yourself, you think, suddenly burningly aware of the warmth between your thighs. It’s not arousal, certainly, it’s your own putrid excrement between your cheeks and now before you. She spits, again, and it lands on your forehead, dripping down under your blindfold before she forces her bulge between your lips. You want to wretch, to get this- this filth out of your mouth, but she persists, and your eyes well over with tears as you suck.

She taunts you. Something she says, she leans down closer to your head, singsongs the words into your hair. You can’t respond- how could you respond to a question that you don’t even know the meaning of? She asks, again, shaking your shoulder with one gloved hand. Without thinking, you nod, probably sealing your own fate. Well, if she kills you, at least it’s over.

And she lets go. Her bulge ripples, and for a moment you are confused. You hadn’t been sucking, not really, mostly trying to push her out of you, get out. There’s no way she is cumming, there’s no way she’s done. A stream of hot, thin fluid fills your mouth and before you can react it’s spilling out of your mouth, down your front and between your legs and it’s not cum. You know what troll cum tastes like, what it feels like on your tongue and this is much too thin. She’s pissing in your mouth, letting it soak into your skin from every angle and you drop your jaw so more spills out, between your breasts, pooling in your belly button.

After what feels like ten eternities, she slows, the last few droplets running down your chin. Tears stream down your cheeks and your wait. And wait. It feels like forever that you wait before she speaks again. This is another speech, another long, drawn out monologue to the dead silent crowd. She walks away from you again, and you retch onto the floor, what little was in your stomach being brought back up until your nose burns with the acid.

When she reaches you again, she stops, considering. Her hands find your head and pull it back, just slightly, almost too gently. She makes another sound, and someone steps next to you, asking her to clarify. She apparently does, because the next thing you know, something sharp is flicked against your cheek and your blood- the one thing you cannot show today- is spilled, tiny droplets blossoming on your skin. She stares, open mouthed and then wipes you roughly with her thumb to show the assembled crowd.

They shriek in glee.

She shrieks in triumph.

Her bulge slides against your cheek. At this point, it almost feels like a relief to only have to suck her cock. You open your mouth, waiting for her to begin, and the tip slides directly under your eye, sliding your blindfold up and off. Blinding pain shoots through you for a moment and you cannot think, can barely breathe, trying to identify the source and then you feel it. Her bulge is inside of your eye socket, the remains of one orb rolling on the ground beneath you as she thrusts. Everything hurts so much, everything is immobile and you can’t even scream or cry out and the first wave of hot cum fills your skull with pressure, making you cry from your one remaining eye.

You glance up and she pulls back, and the only thing you seem to be capable of noticing is that her horns look like Terezi’s, and she carries a cane. But Terezi isn’t here, this is someone else, and she draws her thin blade from her cane and plunges it into your belly, another spear of pain and she kneels down next to you, screaming something to the crowd as she digs her hands into you, pulling out thick ropes of your innards and tying them in a loose knot in front of your face. You want to beg for death, you want to prostrate yourself and ask her to please, kill you, the blood loss is too slow and you are a God tier and she wraps your own intestines around your neck.

You barely notice the gallows.

You see flashes of her throwing the other end of your organ over the edge, tying it tight.

When the ground drops below you, and your neck snaps, you feel nothing but relief.


End file.
